Silent Eyes
by Epsarrow
Summary: Bloody Mary with a change or two. Horror, pain and blood. Really. Rated T for violence, blood, gore. A twist to an urban legend. Set before Emmett Cole was found. Please read and review. Starring Lincoln Cole.
1. Damaged

Disclaimer: I do not own The River or any of the characters. This is an original idea. Rated T for blood, gore, and possible violence. If you have a weak stomach or are disturbed by blood, this is not for you. Read and review please!

**Lincoln Cole**

A piercing scream shattered the almost peaceful evening in which he and Lena were sharing gazing at he endless expanse of the Amazon river and its jungle. It was a beautiful sight, when you weren't being chased by blood thirsty ghosts, hunted by brutal natives, locked away in the hull of a ghost ship, or something of the sort. In fact, he was close to relaxing and allowing his eyes to drift shut, sliding down the side of the boat, nodding enough in the cool night air...

"Ayudame!* Ayudame!" A shrill voice screamed.

He immediately recognized it as Jahel.

Hardly thinking, he took off at a dead run towards the sound of her cry, footsteps and shouts behind him telling him that Lena was running behind him.

He expected her cries to lead him to either her cabin or the engine room, where she spent most of her time with her father. Instead, it led him to the bathroom. That caught him off guard for a moment, wondering whether to send Lena in until her desperately panicked screams broke through his hesitation.

Ramming the door open with one shoulder he heard something shattering in the corner. What drew his attention, however, was the small shape curled up shivering on the floor and whimpering into herself. Jahel had pressed herself in to the far corner, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs as she hid her face and sobbed and cried out in to them. Her clothing was thick with blood but he couldn't tell if she was wounded or not. He ran in to the room, kneeling down in front of her but was careful not to touch her yet. She was in full panic mode, hyperventilating, inconsolable. She would certainly go in to protective mode if he so much as raised a hand towards her, and even speaking he had to be careful.

"Jahel," he murmured quietly. Her whimpering increased, and she shook harder.

"Jahel, estoy aqui. I'm here. You're safe. Estas a salvo," he spoke slowly, gently, calmly, and repeated his words until she began to calm down and looked up at him with shockingly bloodshot eyes. Not shocking. She had been crying and freaking out.

"Lincoln. Eq aqui!" _It's here._She lunged at him, grabbing him in a tight hug and her shaking body nearly dragged him down. "Es aqui," she whispered in to his hear.

"Que? Lo que hay aqui?"_ What is here?_She didn't respond, but continued to repeat "es aqui" over and over to him.

"Lincoln," someone was saying to him. They weren't in trouble. He ignored them, focusing only on Jahel and trying to calm her down.

"Estas herido?" He asked as he looked at the blood all over her body. _Are you hurt?_

"Ella está en busca de sangre." He froze, sat back and stared at her. Had he heard her right? _She is looking for blood._ Who? He knew better than to ignore what she said. She had a connection with this place. She sensed things. Knew things. She had saved them many times just by telling them exactly _what_was out there.

"Quien?" He asked. _Who?_

"Ella.."

In his arms she let out a small gasp, then a shudder passed through her before she passed out.

"Mom!" He shouted. "We need to get her out of here." When no one came and people continued to annoyingly repeat his name he started to stand, letting her limp body fall against him. Then he saw the deep claw marks in her clothing.

She wasn't hurt. But something had torn that apart.

"Let me see," Kurt said calmly and Lincoln was partially aware of the man grabbing Jahel and carrying her away so she could get attention.

"Lincoln look at this," his mom whispered.

He turned, slipping and staggering in something smooth and wet. Looking down he saw smears of blood all across the floor.

"What the hell?"

Then he looked up.

The walls were covered in sprays of blood, still running in some places, dripping on to the floor. He realized his hair was wet with blood dripping from the ceiling. The mirror was shattered. He began to shuffle closer, noting the rather panicked looks of the others in the room as they seemed to be staring at something. The sink was filled with blood. Right to the brim. Tiny dribbles rolled down the very edge. His stomach churned.

By instinct he reached in to the sink, to find whatever was plugging it.

He almost lost his stomach as particles brushed his fingers and hands and he tried not to imagine what they were. The bottom of the sink was slimy and there were things large particles all around. His breathing picked up. "Something is in here," he whispered with an edge of panic in his voice.

"No, Lincoln."

His hand closed around something squishy and soft. It was hard to grab them as they slid between his fingers. With a handful of the objects, he pulled his arm from the blood...

And sightless, torn and bloody eyes stared back at him.

With a cry of disgust and horror, he dropped them, staggered sideways and was sick on the floor.


	2. Shattered

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: Sorry it took so long to update. I was going to write chapter 2 sooner but I got sick and was busy with classes all weekend. Thanks for the reviews and I'll try to continue the creepiness! There is even more blood in this chapter. And some whump. 

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><p><strong>LINCOLN COLE<strong>

Kurt had his gun drawn as he stood outside the bathroom door as though expecting something to be in there. Lincoln had left the room in a staggered hurry, followed quickly by his mom and A.J. who had been there as well, filming everything. No one wanted to go back.

Jahel had woken in such a screaming panic that he had had to sedate her. Now she was in - what he hoped - was a peaceful sleep.

"What did she say to you?" A.J. asked. The camera was thrust annoyingly close to Lincoln's face.

"She's here," he responded numbly, too tired to deal with the fly. "That's all he said," he added, noticing A.J. opening his mouth to ask the next question which was probably "who?".

He went through the door in to the navigation room where his mom and Clark and Jonas were.

Emilio was probably sitting with his daughter to make sure she was okay. Although the man sometimes seemed to distance himself emotionally from his daughter, there was no doubt he loved and cared for her in his own careful way.

"How is she?" His mom asked, putting a hand on his back in a comforting gesture. Despite the occasional ruts in their relationship, there as still the mother-son bond and his mother's maternal instincts were still quite sharp. His stomach hurt - physically from the stress of muscles contracting violently when he was sick.

"She's sleeping. I had to put her under because she was so distressed."

She nodded. Attention turned to Clark who was pacing impatiently at the other end of the room.

"So what was that?" His voice was raised and slightly pitched as it so often was when he was stressed or scared. A sink full of human eyes certainly qualified as something that could scare people.

Lincoln shrugged.

"They didn't just put themselves there. And all that blood had to come from someone - something."

He had a point. Lincoln had missed it in his own grasping for straws.

"I don't know. Keep an eye out thought. I don't think whatever that was is just going to go away." 

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><p>Lincoln stared in the mirror at his own haggard reflection. It was nearly three in the morning. He had volunteered to keep watch and his replacement came a little late after having slept through the alarm. All he wanted now was to crawl in to bed and sleep for the rest of his life.<p>

Drawing a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes and tried to think. He'd already checked on Jahel and she was sleeping well. Everything and everyone else seemed to be in place and unharmed.

With the last thought that all problems could wait until later, he dropped in to bed and was out in seconds.

**2:54 AM. Lincoln's room.**

The camera was pointed in such a way that it caught the reflection in the mirror. As Lincoln closed his eyes, a flicker of static crossed the lens. In the reflection there was a shape like a coat draped over a chair at the other end of the room where the lens could not record. A couple seconds went by.

The static crossed again.

Something was behind Lincoln in the reflection, standing, staring, close enough to touch.

The static flickered as Lincoln opened his eyes and moved away, the reflection empty.

**Lincoln Cole**

He was standing at the edge of a forest. It looked like night because it was dark, but he couldn't see the sky. His upward vision ended at about 10 feet past his head where a strange blackness seemed to coat the sky. He could see everywhere in front of him and beside him. He couldn't gather the willpower to look behind himself. The trees were thickly clustered with undergrowth everywhere. They seemed to be pine trees, but he couldn't be completely sure because the dark sky was hiding their tops. Small shadows flickered between the tree trunks and through bushes and by thistles, but he never saw an actual creature.

He wondered how he got here.

Then he realized that if there was no light from the sky, how could he see the ground?

There were footsteps behind him. Heavy, laboured breathing haunted his neck. He should have turned to see what it was, but couldn't. Fear was pounding his heart and piercing his mind. He took a step forward and a scream pierced the air - a woman's scream - but it wasn't of fright or pain or even anger. It was one of the most chilling and emotionless screams he had ever heard, and it echoed through the trees and undergrowth; bouncing from branch to branch and soaring easily through the waves. The screaming didn't stop and the high pitched cry was pulsing against his head, sending waves of pain from his skull and down his neck until he fell to his knees with a shout that was immediately drowned by the scream as he held his head.

He tried to tone out the screaming as best he could, but it came louder and louder, and he could feel footsteps on the ground, heavy and loud so that they made a sound like a horse when it was running. A warm breath hit his back.

He found his feet again and began to run as fast as he could in to the trees. Branches from nowhere hit his face, whipping his cheeks and forehead - trees loomed up from the shadows for him to smash in to - vines and roots tripped him again and again. He grabbed at anything and everything he could and as he ran, he saw that blood was running in thick lines down the tree trunks, pooling at the base of the trees and turning bushes red. Everything was coated in a thick layer of scarlet.

His hands were soaked with it and he could feel it sliding down his face.

But the only thing that really mattered was the pain in his skull which was bouncing around inside - feeling like hard stones being bashed in to the inside of his skull, everywhere, constantly, and his entire skeleton seemed to tremble from the blows.

He fell, no longer able to keep himself standing. The screaming grew impossibly louder, and as the stones seemed to burst through his skull in a violent rush of agony, he screamed too.

He landed in warm, thick pool. Blood was all around. He thrashed and squirmed, unable to open his eyes, unable to find the surface. The slimy feeling of what may as well be eyes or tissue or muscle brushed against him coating him, and his body was becoming heavier as he struggled. Pain in his lungs broke through even that of his skull which he was sure was split open and gushing more blood in to the pool, and he gasped for air. Blood streamed down his throat into his lungs. He coughed and choked and was ruled by terror.

When he forced his eyes open, he thought he saw it.

Red and gold eyes stared back at him, black hair down to her shoulders, and gaping hole for a mouth, skin as pale as a ghost, clawed hands and hooves for feet.

Those claws tore at him; piercing his flesh as he jerked back with a scream that never quite made it from him. More blood flooded in to his lungs. He tried to pull away.

Strong hands wrenched him from the blood pool, pulling him in to a warm embrace, and suddenly the blood was pumping from his lungs and air was reaching him once more. He coughed and gasped, wheezing, shaking, trembling and letting out quiet whimpers because of the pain in his skull.

He couldn't hear well because his ears were filled with blood. But there was a familiar voice trying to call his name over and over.

He opened his eyes, his body giving out due to exhaustion and pain as a new slice hit his already shattered skull. His mom was holding him, trying to drag him away from the red soaked sheets and bloodied pools around and within his bed. 

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><p><span>NOTE<span>: I am going to apologize right now because just writing that made my head hurt and my stomach churn. I honestly have no clue where that came from. I think it wrote itself, but I will not be surprised - after rereading it - if you think I'm psychotic or something. That was intense and bloody. I'll put up the next chapter soon! Thanks for reading and I hope I didn't scare anyone worse than I scared myself! xP


	3. Pawprints

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: Woot chapter 3! I'll try to upgrade once every two days, okay?

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><p><strong>LINCOLN COLE<strong>

When he had collapsed his mother had managed to half support him out of his room and into he hallway where she let him slide down the wall and sink to the floor. He was shaking more now, and couldn't control the soft whimpers and moans of pain. He couldn't even bring himself to feel any shame - they came out of their own accord and his head hurt too much for him to care about what anyone thought. He just wanted the pain to _stop_.

Meanwhile, his mother was beside him, peeling away his bloodied shirt. She let out a small gasp. "What happened?"

His vision was blurred. He was surprised he could still see at all. He was also surprised that he was still conscious. Shouldn't he be dead by now? His skull must be cracked open and shattered into pieces. That's what it felt like. He couldn't feel the rest of his body. He was either passing out or his skull was the only thing his body was capable of feeling at the moment.

"Lincoln," Lena's voice sounded distant, frightened and worried. He tried to turn his head by instinct but stars burst in front of his eyes. At least the screaming had died down to a distant echo in his ears.

He tried to speak but the words were blocked in his throat. He coughed reflexively and blood trickled down his lip. Leftover from what he had breathed in? Somehow he just became aware that all of that was a _dream_. How could this be real? Was it another dream?

No, it couldn't be.

A glass was thrust at his face. He flinched violently because his vision was just beginning to clear again, and then moaned. He wished someone would knock him out or at least shoot him in the head so he couldn't feel.

"Drink it," Kurt ordered.

He didn't want to. His throat burned and his chest felt like someone had stomped on it over and over - his lungs especially. Only in books was drowning a painless experience. The fools who wrote them have obviously never swallowed something down the wrong hole in their life. Had never felt the sudden rush of panic that came with it when you could not cough it out.

He wanted to pull away but didn't have the strength.

His mother put the glass to his lips and he gagged to fight the liquid as it went in, almost afraid that it would find a new home in his battered lungs.

As he drank, he felt incredibly tired. The pain dulled a little. He tried to focus on the funny forms in front of him, but even they faded into the foggy white that was fast descending on him... Even as he passed out, the scream carried on in the back of his pounding head.

**LENA LANDRY**

She had never seen so much blood before. She hadn't arrived in time to see what was in the bathroom when Jahel was screaming, but Lincoln's pale face and the murmurings of the others had told her that it wasn't a pretty site. Blood everywhere. On the walls, on the floor, on the ceiling. Human eyes. It sounded like some corny slasher movie. Only it wasn't a movie. It was _real_.

Then she had awoken at five in the morning from an almost dead sleep to screams of pain. Lincoln had been soaked with blood from head to foot, hardly recognizable at first as she watched the thick streams run down his face. When he coughed, there was more blood. Was he hurt?

It was all over the floor and when she looked in to his room, there were actual _pools_ of blood. Like someone had broken into a blood bank and dumped bags of blood all over the place. But there wasn't a blood bank and some part of her feared that it was Lincoln. Her worries were confirmed when Tess revealed deep, animal-like scratches across Lincoln's stomach. They were similar to the ones she had seen in Jahel's shirt.

Worst of all was the wild look in his eyes. The panic, confusion and pain all made him look as helpless and small as a newborn. He didn't even seem aware of the scratches. Instead, his hands were reflexively moving up to his head and from his heart-wrenching murmurs and cries of pain she knew his head probably felt like it was exploding.

And she could do nothing but sit back and watch as he struggled with some kind of internal battle that she could never protect him from.

Only Kurt had been smart enough to give him something to knock him out. But even as he went under she could tell he could still feel the pain. Beneath the look he looked pale and his expression was strained. One look at Kurt said there was nothing they could do about that.

"He needs stitches," Tess murmured from where she was looking at the scratches.

Lena immediately took off to grab Lincoln's medical bag. It was full of all sorts of useful things and even things so strange that she wondered why he had even put them in there in the first place - little band aids too small to cover anything worth it - and giant ones that could cover any area so large that they should probably just use gauze instead.

She wondered if there were any painkillers strong enough to take even the edge away from what he was feeling.

Kurt took the bag from her and she stood there, feeling strangely useless. Tess and Kurt were taking good care of Lincoln, while A.J. filmed away like it was some sort of play. Clark looked too dazed to form a coherent thought and Jonas was nowhere to be seen. She knew he was a little squeamish. She turned to walk in to Lincoln's bed room. He was very neat and kept all of his things well organized. If it wasn't for the mess of gore, it would be perfect.

She lifted up the sheets and drops of blood ran down them. She was standing in the middle of the mess. The sight of all the blood made her sick to her stomach. The smell was nearly overwhelming - some people said blood didn't have a smell. They should go stand in the middle of where she was standing and they'd learn otherwise.

That's when she saw it. The blood had not yet reached everywhere. She saw the prints. A little palm and five long claws with a needle tip. And right behind them were the hoof prints, and together the claws and hoofs made a path across the floor and up the wall to the mirror...


	4. Nightmares

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: Time for chapter 4? There's a bit of cuteness in this one. o: Not slash - not intended to be romance because I don't write that. xP

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><p><strong>TESS COLE<strong>

She was beside her son, stroking his hair and touching his face, almost constantly checking to make sure he was breathing even if it was fairly obvious. Her mother's instinct was strong and she couldn't bring herself to leave his side. She had hardly been able to hold herself together when she saw more slashes on his back, his skin and flesh so ripped and slashed that she could barely find the actual wounds to clean and bandage.

At least he was sleeping, although she knew it wasn't comfortably. He twitched and squirmed and mumbled softly under his breath, sometimes punctuating his situation with a whimper that brought tears to her eyes.

She was supposed to protect him, yet she could do nothing but wait for him to wake.

She hadn't been able to clean all the blood off. He looked like had been drowning in it, judging by his coughing and choking and the blood that issued forth.

"What happened?" She whispered, half to herself, as she moved a strand of hair out of his face.

"Tess." She turned to see Clark standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Jahel's awake."

**LENA LANDRY**

"She's a demon. A bad spirit. She was wronged in life and now haunts the living to spread the injustice. She is evil, stay away from her," Jahel said with broken English and Spanish intertwined.

Lena stood as far from her as possible, having to wrap her arms around herself as though to keep herself together. She felt scared, alone and vulnerable. In her mind, she saw the prints over and over, covered in blood - some of it Lincoln's no doubt - leading away in to the mirror. She had no idea what Jahel was talking about. She had no idea who _she_ was. What demon?

"What does she want with us?" Tess asked. Lena saw the blood stains on her hands and through her clothes.

_Lincoln's blood._

She turned her head away, feeling sick.

"Sangre..." _Blood._

She raised her head and saw Jonas looking at her worriedly. Desperate to make herself appear and feel strong, she walked towards Jahel.

"Who is she? How was she... wronged?"

Maybe they could find a way to stop her.

"Emmett once told my dad about her. She was a young, beautiful woman who came from Spain to Mexico during the colonial days. She was said to be smart, but very mysterious and sometimes frightening. People would call her a witch because she often spoke to herself as though someone else was there, and she would stare off in to the distance and hear things that would eventually come true. Because they were afraid of her, no one wanted to go near her, and even her own parents began to stop trusting her. One day she woke up screaming and said that their village leader had been murdered. Later, the other villagers found his body impaled to a beam on the outskirts of town. One by one the villagers turned on her, calling her a witch and a demon and they threatened to burn her at the cross."

Somehow this reminded Lena of a story she knew... She tried to think of what it was called.

"So she fled. Trying to escape their rage, she ran in to the territory of the Boiuna. But she was young and small and the villagers were able to catch up to her, and they made a cross from the wood of the Amazon and tied her to it. Before they burned her, one of the villagers gouged out her eyes. Then she screamed and cursed the villagers, saying that she will have her revenge on them and anyone who enters the place of her death - by entering their world through a reflection - a mirror - and shedding their blood. The Boiuna heard her calls, and when she died in the flames, it granted her wish, but at a price. In return for grating her powers, she was made a demon. That night the villagers returned and drank from the river, they saw their own reflection in the river and that of the demon. The villagers who survived to pass on the tail named her 'Bloody Mary'."

Lena stared at her with disbelief. Bloody Mary was a fable designed to frighten children as they recited her name in the mirror. She wasn't real.

"Are you kidding me?" A.J. asked when someone translated the Spanish. "Bloody Mary? That's a crock of crap. 'Say Bloody Mary in the mirror three times and her spirit will appear'. That happens all the time, right?" He said sarcastically.

Jahel looked about ready to cry.

"Are you saying we found her burial ground?" Kurt asked.

Lena turned and walked out of the room, her feet seeming to guide themselves until she reached the one where Lincoln was sleeping.

His expression was pained and tense. His shirt was open to expose gauze that was a slight tint of pink. She felt a sense of protectiveness as she watched the only friend who actually, genuinely, cared about her - and everyone else for that matter - so hurt and vulnerable. She grabbed his hand and it felt cool and limp in her grasp. Beads of sweat were running down his face and she realized that whatever pain he was experiencing was getting worse in his sleep. His twitching and squirming and mumbling was getting less varied, and his breathing was choppy and hoarse. That was from breathing down blood from whatever the heck had happened. His pulse was rapid.

She wondered if he was scared. If he felt alone in his pain in a dream she couldn't imagine. The others would stand around and talk and argue and try to come up with a solution for whatever was happening. She remembered him letting her go in to his bunk when they were little after she had had a bad dream, and he had comforted her by singing her to sleep.

The table wasn't exactly meant for two people. But he was small and so was she, and as carefully as she could, she crawled in and curled up as close to him as she could. Closing her eyes, she felt his tense body starting to relax and his heart beat was slowing. She dragged her fingers through his hair and he relaxed further, his body instinctively snuggling in towards the warm, comforting source that she hoped would sooth his nightmare.


	5. Struggles

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: This is chapter 5. Sorry if there are any mistakes. I'm trying to recover from the flu - it seems all I do lately is get sick. Thanks for the reviews!

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><p><strong>LINCOLN COLE<strong>

A loud noise jolted him awake. He made the mistake of flinching. His skull no longer felt like it was split in half and open to the world, but did feel like a pretty bad hangover. His muscles were sore. It hurt to breath. There was a taste of blood in his mouth. The blood must have dried because it felt like he hadn't drank anything for at least a month. His back felt like he had been whipped and he didn't dare move much because his stomach felt as though any amount of movement would open up what must be wounds. He wasn't sure how he got them. It had all been a dream, hadn't it?

He started to turn his head and winced. Something warm was pressing in to his chest and side. He didn't dare open his eyes because the light would only increase the pounding of his skull. He wanted to go back to sleep. At first it had been frightening and cold, but then it had gotten better and he had felt safe. The pain in his skull and the rest of him for that matter wouldn't allow him to fall back asleep.

He wished he could speak through the dryness that caked his mouth and throat. He would ask for more drugged water to force him to sleep.

Whatever was beside him twitched.

He forced his eyes open and was surprised that it didn't hurt too badly. Just a warning pang. The light was very dim. He tried to turn his head again and gritted his teeth. Lena was curled up and asleep in his arm, her head draped against his chest. She looked so cute that for a moment he didn't feel the pain at all.

He watched her for a moment before realizing his body was going to steal the most painless moment from him. He had to pee.

He tried to move, but pain lanced through him and he fell still with a grunt. Lena's eyes opened immediately.

"Are you okay?" She asked, quickly getting up and putting a palm against his head. He tried to respond but he couldn't form a word, his mouth so dry that it burned. He coughed, unable to speak or nod - he didn't dare move his head at the moment.

She stared at him blankly and he coughed again, trying to plead with his eyes as he struggled to explain. "Water." It wasn't even a word that came out. It sounded more like a croak.

But she understood.

A moment later there was blessedly cool water as his lips.

"Thanks," he rasped, and that was for more than just the water. For sleeping on that hard, cold table when she could have been in her own bed, but staying there just because she seemed to know he needed her there. He wanted to say more. It was a struggle to form a coherent thought, let alone words.

He wanted to give in to the panic threatening to wake within him. It was growing and growing and he knew why. She was still screaming in the back of his head.

"There was so much blood," she murmured.

He struggled to make sense of it. Then remembered. The blood stains, the pools of blood.

"I don't know what happened," he managed to say. He began to cough, his throat closing. She gave him more water immediately. "It was just a dream. I swear it was all just a dream." He tried to sit up. Blinding pain lanced through his already throbbing skull and darts ran up his back, making him let out a muffled yelp.

"You have to lay still," she started to push him gently back down.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he said.

She seemed to hesitate, as though deliberating whether to run to another room and get someone else or to grab a bucket. He wasn't able to sit up on his own, let alone walk.

"I'll help you up," she said finally, surprising him.

He felt as weak and fragile as a newborn as he found himself putting nearly his full weight on her. He tried not to, tried to stand because his lower body wasn't hurt at all as far as he could tell, but he simply felt so weak. How long had he been out? "Sorry," he mumbled as she readjusted her grip as he almost fell completely. He couldn't believe how much it hurt. He most certainly would have protested any kind of pain killer now. The involuntary whine that escaped his lips as his body quaked embarrassed him.

"You're too light," she said, and for once she wasn't just teasing him.

"Sorry," he said again. They both stopped awkwardly in front of the bathroom door. "I can get there," he assured her, semi certain he could. There was a wall to lean on, after all.

At that moment there was another loud bang from somewhere on the ship.

Lena glanced at him. "Seriously, I'll be fine."

"I'll be right back," she said after a pause, letting him put his full weight in to the wall before she let him go. Lincoln knew she was a better prop. She held on to him in case he fell. The wall would just sit there and let him hit the floor.

When he was done, he had managed to get some strength back in him. He was too queasy to feel hungry. He took a couple more sips of water before shakily resting his head on the cold wall. It ached like hell. He couldn't remember a time when the pain wasn't there, following him. He had tried to look at his injuries. His trembling hands and fingers couldn't pull the bandage back. All he knew was that his back hurt a heck of a lot worse than his front.

He still wasn't sure why.

Lena hadn't come back yet and he felt worry blossoming in him. What was the noise? It didn't really sound like a gunshot. Was someone hurt?

He staggered as best he could out of the room, never leaving the support of the wall behind. There were voices up ahead that he couldn't place due to the screaming in his ears. He wished it would shut up. It was never did. Not even in his dreams.

He found them all grouped together in a room, arguing and talking way too fast. His mom was yelling at Clark... as usual. A.J. was filming. Jonas was leaning back with his head down, watching the floor. Lena was talking in a hushed whisper to Jahel... Jahel was awake? That was good. She was looking better, too. She was less pale. That's all he saw before another sharpening pulse of pain made his vision blur. He was sure the muscular shape in the corner was Kurt. The other must be Emilio.

He waited fo his vision to clear and then took another half step forward, bracing himself against the doorway.

"Mom. What's happening?" Everyone seemed to freeze. Their startled, mouth half open expressions would have been more amusing to him if he'd taken a vicodin or two. He was certain they had all frozen in to icicles until one of the semi blurry shapes moved.

"You shouldn't be up. You can hardly stand!" His mother said. She seemed to hesitate before grabbing him gently by his shoulders, shifting his position so that she was holding him up. So he had open wounds on his back. Otherwise she would have wrapped him in a hug. That's why it hurt. There must be quite a few, otherwise it wouldn't hurt everywhere.

"I... wanted to see what was going on," he mumbled. He wanted to say that he didn't want to be alone, but didn't dare to.

"Sit," his mother ordered, but her voice was gentle and concerned, like it was whenever he was sick as a kid. She moved him forward, and his body, sensing it didn't have to support him anymore, gave out just as she lowered him to a chair.

His head swam for a moment. The screaming grew louder.

"You saw her," Jahel said. He forced his eyes to open but could hardly see. Pain rippled from his head and down his neck. He pictured the black haired, red and yellow eyed _thing_.

"Her? That thing has a gender?" The screaming pitched so loud that it brought tears to his eyes.

He thought Jahel had replied but couldn't quite hear her. There was noise all around him. His mother was trying to check for a concussion but he swore the light bust a piece of his skull back open. He whimpered softly, shutting his eyes and moving his head away. The movement made his stomach roll with nausea.

The voices and noises and screaming were mixing together creating a vicious cycle of pounding, stabbing pain. "No, shut up. Please?" He whispered. There was an immediate silence. Even the screaming stopped. He felt the pain lessen. Opening his eyes, he realized that they were wet with tears.

"She keeps screaming," he whispered.

His mother stared at him blankly. "Who?"

"That... whatever she is... What is going on?" He realized that everyone was staring at him with everything from concern to sympathy to fear.

"Remember that mission you went on with Jahel and Kurt a couple days ago?" He said yes. "What did you see?"


	6. Memories

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: Chapter 6 already... It seems like I'm updating too often... lol. I have the chapters ready and all but I swear Monday never happened. Probably because I was sleeping through most of it, right? Anyway. Here's chapter 6 and thanks for all current and upcoming reviews! :) By the way. As much as I love to write... I love to read! I have read every fanfiction (other than my own because I get low self-esteem reading my stuff) over and over at least a dozen times because they're all awesome... Get to work. xP I love this show. Second season or not, let's get this fan page going!

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><p><strong>1 WEEK EARLIER. LINCOLN COLE<strong>

They had never seen any terrain so thick or difficult to travel in. Sure, this was the Amazon, but they could hardly move through even with machetes. If there weren't hundreds of clusters of trees put so close together, then there were thorn bushes, thistles, brambles and vines that were so coiled and tied within themselves that moving through it was near impossible.

Even Kurt was tripping, stumbling, and sometimes cursing in a language that Lincoln couldn't understand.

Lincoln tried to ignore the thorns biting in to his skin and helped Jahel up a rather steep incline. What a mission this had turned out to be. They took one wrong turn, getting themselves separated from the others, and ended up lost in the middle of the Amazon which had about half a trail of ground that they could actually walk in. They had a compass with them, but strangely, it wouldn't work. The needle would spin without ever settling on the strong magnetic pull of the North.

Looking ahead, Kurt had disappeared.

"Hey, Kurt!" He yelled, beginning to hurry forward. A vine tangled under him and he pitched forward. An arm caught him and shoved him back roughly. Bark against his back stopped another fall.

"Try to keep up," Kurt said gruffly.

Lincoln shared a glance with Jahel. Why was Kurt always so... curt?

They carried on, not making it very far and it was starting to get dark. They were just about to stop and decide if they would set up camp for the night and try to find their way back to the Magus the next day when he heard crackling and the ground shook beneath his feet.

His hand had barely closed around Jahel's when the ground she was standing on caved in and she screamed. Her sudden weight dragged him down, one arm hanging to hers while the other gabbed for anything that could be steady. He collided with the ground at the very edge of the hole, immediately winded, but he couldn't let go. For a moment they were both frozen. She was hanging on to his hand while he held on to the roots of a large tree just a few feet away.

He tried to shuffle backwards and drag her up without loosing either of his grips.

Kurt, standing on the stable ground behind Lincoln, grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dragged them both. When she was close enough, he pulled Jahel up and Lincoln managed to catch his breath.

"Thanks," he said.

Kurt ignored him. He was staring into the hole.

What was there was dark and dead from age. There was no telling how long it had been here, or what it once was for, but it still stood, blackened and moldy and shriveled. It must be wood. It formed a cross, right side up and sticking out of the soil. Around the horizontal boards were some kinds of vine. They were wrapped around in such a way that it looked as though they had been tied. Lincoln wondered if that was intentional. That's when he saw what was at the bottom of the hole. They were blackened and partially destroyed due to age and weather. But they all knew what they were. Bones.

**PRESENT TIME. LINCOLN COLE**

At that time he had thought he had discovered an old Christian ritual site - maybe even a kind of Pagan ground. Now he realized that there was far more to it than that. He wished they would stop talking so loudly. He picked up bits and pieces of their conversations, like "Mary" and "revenge". He wasn't able to piece it together. They were fighting over it again. He lay his head on his arms, holding it tightly to keep all the cracked pieces together.

"I don't... understand... what this... has to do with anything," his words were broken. He was only seconds away from breaking down and pleading for a hospital.

He felt a prickle in his arm. He forced his eyes open and saw the needle but not much beyond that. Judging by the fact that he didn't feel sleepier than before, it wasn't supposed to knock him out. After a few seconds, though, his head grew foggy. The pain was dulling - not completely, but enough for him to tolerate it. He had no idea what it was. His mind was still a little slow.

"Bloody Mary," Jahel said.

He tried to focus on her. It was a bit blurry. Despite the pain killer now coursing happily through his veins, it was still difficult to see.

"What?" He wondered blankly.

"It's a long story," Clark responded. "Basically, Mary went off and cursed those who killed her, that she would take revenge on any who saw her death, or grave-site. The boiuna - whatever the heck that is - decided it would be fun to help her and she is now a demon. Apparently, the villagers who were afraid of her tried to bury the cross so that no one would ever see it, but they died before they could completely finish the job. Nature helped cover up the rest but you guys apparently found it. Lucky us, right" He said, slightly sarcastic at some points. Always count on Clark to make light any situation.

It took another good minute for his brain to register what Clark had just said.

"The cross? What does that have to...?" In a moment it all clicked. "Oh." Her _grave-site_. Buried on the cross. The bones.

_What a horrible way to die,_he thought.

Something cold washed over him and he heard a scratching sound at he edge of the room where there was a mirror on the wall. Kurt pulled out his gun. In the mirror, Lincoln thought he saw a hoof. Kurt fired. The mirror shattered. Lincoln felt as though his skull was doing the same thing.

_Oww... crap..._he thought, putting his head back down and shutting his eyes tightly. His ears were ringing. "Sorry," Kurt's voice came in very distant and muffled.

The pain eventually began to die down and he could start to hear better.

"What was that" Lena was asking. He remembered the hoofed creature from his dream or whatever that was. It seemed less a dream than something real. Maybe he should just go back to sleep.

"It was that thing," he mumbled, refusing to lift his head. "Mary, the demon, whatever she is. Her feet are hoofs and her hands are claws. Don't look into her eyes. They aren't right. Nothing is right about any of this," he rambled on. "How do we stop her?"


	7. Recovery

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: I think it's chapter 7 time. I lost track of the schedule. Every two days, but I can't remember what two days ... lol. Thanks to all of you giving reviews, especially evershort - I must say, every time I see a new review on my stories, I think it's someone going to say something bad, so it's refreshing to see people actually liking my stuff. :] I'm gonna add some more one shots soon when I feel like adding a new story but I'm sick of having to accept the guidelines every day. lul i'm so ornary. (btw that Kurt/curt thing... been wanting to use that for awhile...) Another btw... I write fantasy novels... heheh. I can't get too realistic or I'll get bored. :o Though if something doesn't sound... right... then just tell me and I'll try to make it better.

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><p><strong>LINCOLN COLE<strong>

It was the second time in a row that he had woken up in extreme confusion. For a long moment, he had no idea where he was. Then he realized he was back where he had woken up earlier. The next question was how had he got here? He couldn't remember anything after asking how to stop the demon. He had either blacked out or had fallen asleep. That or something had happened that made his brain shut off.

The pain in his head had decreased considerably. He wondered if it was because of the painkillers that may or may not still be flowing in his blood stream, or if it was finally lightening up.

Either way, he was able to sit up without too much a problem from it.

He was alone. He wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved or even a little scared. What if that thing came back?

He had to pee again. He judged he had been out for at least six hours this time.

He was washing his hands when he realized that the mirror was gone. Someone had literally ripped it off the wall. She attacked through reflection, right? He wondered if they had destroyed the mirrors or had locked them up somewhere. He hoped they had destroyed them. She seemed pretty strong.

He had to wash up. He looked over himself to see the dried blood on his skin and clothing. The clothes were pretty much ruined. They nearly fell apart as he tried to peel the fabric off.

He looked like someone had dyed him red. If only.

The bandages had to go next. The ones on his stomach were a little pink. He couldn't see the ones on his back. The throbbing on his back told him he'd be better off having someone else take a look at it. He was rather surprised by what he found on his stomach. Deep slashes ran vertically from his ribs to his navel, and some even to his waste. A couple of light scratches ran over his ribs. A few of the deeper ones were bleeding a little. Not enough to worry. He could stitch - or have someone else stitch - them up easily.

He was very careful about the water. He couldn't have it as hot as he usually liked it, and cold wouldn't be much better. He shivered in the area of lukewarm that only just bordered on 'cool'. He remembered horror movies where people would bath after getting covered in blood. Anyone who would voluntarily sit in a tub filled with blood-red water needed to get their heads checked out. He was a doctor and the sight of blood-red water swirling down the drain was rather sickening - partly because only some of it was his own. What was the rest of it from?

-

When he was done he noticed immediately that someone had left a fresh pile of clothes for him. His movement was slow and stiff and he had to walk gingerly to avoid anything that would strain his body. What time was it?

He had no idea until he found a window and saw the sun shining brightly. So it was noon.

"Lincoln!" He turned to see Lena walking towards him, smiling brightly. There was a hint of concern in her eyes, too, that bothered him. He didn't want her to worry.

"Hey," he said.

"Are you feeling better?" She immediately noticed little red droplets forming on his shirt from the sort-of-bleeding cuts.

"My head doesn't hurt so much anymore. What did he give me? I need to change out the bandages and a few cuts need stitching..." he hesitated. "How long have I been out?" He asked in confusion. For all he knew, it could have been hours. Or days. He doubted it could be a week, but what did he know?

"26 hours the first time. 8 when you fell asleep at the table," she offered.

So he had fallen asleep. He didn't really remember any of that. Then again, his mind was rather screwy from all that was happening.

"Come on, let me help," she said, nudging him into a room. He immediately noticed that the mirror had been removed here, too. That was good. She forced him to sit down a table. He hovered somewhere between sitting up and leaning over, not quite wanting to touch his back to the metal chair, and not wanting to lean forward, either, which would probably make him bleed more.

Before he knew it, she had removed his shirt and he tried not to blush self-consciously.

"You took off the bandage," she said, rather disapprovingly. He made a sheepish twitch of a shrug. "Sorry."

Sighing, she started to push him backwards as she dabbed at the deepest of the cuts that were bleeding, but immediately froze when he stiffened. "Sorry, but whatever the heck is on my back hurts like crazy. What did it do, take a couple bites out of me?" The grin was partly forced.

"Something like that," she responded rather half-heartedly.

It took a few minutes for her to stitch shut the straggling cuts. Then she put on a fresh bandage. Now was the bad part.

He leaned forward and rested his head on his arms on the table as she started to pull away the bandages on his back. The wounds were burning and throbbing and he thought he saw her throwing away dark red bandages. _Just a flesh wound,_ he thought.

"Does this hurt?" Her voice sounded strange. What was wrong?

"A little," he lied. The actual truth would have been '_like hell_,' but he didn't want her to worry. He'd probably never admit it. Men were stubborn.

She began to dab at the wounds, and strangely, it hurt badly in some places and in others he hardly felt a thing. He might have been able to see what was wrong in a mirror, but he wasn't sure he ever wanted to look at one of those things again; even if they managed to somehow worm their way out of this mess. He'd always picture the hoofed demon with her red and yellow eyes.

Something about that was still troubling him.

"She clawed me in my dreams. How can this be real? I mean, I was sleeping. She wasn't really there," he said.

He could almost sense her hesitation.

"Jahel was awake when it attacked her," she admitted finally. "She said she felt something was wrong and when she turned around, it was there. That was when she screamed and it attacked her, trying to claw her, but she managed to get out of the way and it only got her clothing. She said there was blood spreading everywhere, especially from the mirror, and the demon was the reason. When she heard you and the others coming, she fled back into the mirror."

As he listened, he caught the sense that she wasn't telling him everything.

"So... she can come in to the real world too?" He asked, confused.

"Lincoln. There were hoof prints and... claw prints... in your room."


	8. Prepatory

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: Chapter 8! Happy Easter tomorrow if you celebrate it. o: And it's gonna start getting intense from here. Unfortunately, we're actually nearing the end. In about... I don't know, a couple more chapters and what not. But regardless, here you go!

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><p><strong>KURT BRYNDILSON<strong>

It was night time. The sun had set just over an hour ago. They were all grouped together in the kitchen. No one wanted to be alone and no one even knew what to do. They were all scared and worried and desperate. Everyone loved a good ghost story until it stopped being just a story, an the ghost wasn't a ghost anymore.

Bloody Mary though? Hell, that was a surprise.

He had his guns ready. He didn't care what it was, but if he had a glimpse of any kind of danger, he was going to shoot it. They had already gone through and locked the mirrors away.

Part of him had wanted to toss them overboard. But then they'd never get this finished with.

No one really had any idea of how to deal with it. How could they stop her? She wasn't just a spirit anymore that you could bury or burn and let them go to wherever it was spirits went. She was a fully fledged demon. At the same time, she seemed skittish, as though unwilling to put herself in danger. That was why she continued to flee whenever anyone got close to her. Was it because she was vulnerable? Because she _could_ be hurt? If so, he would gladly put a couple of rounds in her. Or she was messing with them, testing their weaknesses, so she could strike again later.

She was probably watching them, right now... waiting.

Clark, A.J, Jonas and Tess were grouped together, talking. It wasn't hard to imagine what about. He had stopped participating in their "what do we do" discussions when the answers stopped changing. Jahel was with her father and they were standing close together, probably talking, although he couldn't see their faces.

Lincoln was half asleep at the table with Lena sitting across from him, neither talking, but just waiting. Kurt sighed as he walked towards the door, stopping just in front.

He was about to turn back when he heard a _thump_ from outside. He jerked his head around. No one else had noticed. He considered telling someone, but decided that they didn't need to worry. If he saw something, he would shoot it. Besides, it sounded like something coming from outside the boat, where it was dark; and it was probably just a tree branch or a vine. Still best to check it out. In case the branch broke something vital.

He slipped silently from the room and climbed to the deck. The night lights were on even though they were still moving. He couldn't see anything wrong.

A _whooshing_ sound to the right brought him to the edge of the boat. He looked down at the water. It was beautiful when batched in the light off the boat. Off a little ways, it was nearly black in colour - a trick of the night and the starless sky. There was no storm coming, but it was going to be cloudy that night. But under the light, the surface of the water was smooth and glassy, the water blue-ish white that reflected everything above. His gun shimmered in his hands. He turned and walked away.

_Reflection..._ The alarm went off in his head.

He spun, gun raised, as a clawed white hand gripped the railing.

**TESS** **COLE**

"We should get the hell out of here before that thing tries to kill all of us," A.J. said. She was inclined to agree with him. Her son was in danger, and she wasn't wiling to risk his life - or anyone else's - with all of this going on. But what could they do? Leave the Boiuna? And if it followed them?

"You saw that thing in the mirror. It isn't just going to let us go," Jonas objected.

"So we just wait around for it to come back?" Clark snapped. "I don't know about you but I feel pretty weak sitting around and doing nothing as it decided what it wants to do next."

Tess looked between them as they began to bicker.

Suddenly she just had to get away. Without a word, she walked off and went towards her son and Lena. He was looking considerably better. She was relieved that the pale and haggard look of pain had faded, although she wondered how much he was still hiding on the inside. Ever since he was a kid he hated to be a "burden" - as though she would rather do other things than help him be better. Maybe there were other things to do, but he always came first. The irony hit her then, that she hadn't thought of _him_ first when she had forced him to come out here. Instead, she ha thought of Emmet and finding the crew - but mostly just Emmet.

Smiling at them, she began to prepare some coffee. It was going to be a long night, regardless of whether there was anything actually happening or not.

Looking around the room, she realized that something was wrong. It wasn't so much that something was out of place... but more or less, that someone wasn't there. She did the count quickly in her head. For a moment she didn't realize who was missing.

_Lincoln, Lena, Clark, A.J., Jonas, Emilio, Jahel, Kurt... Kurt!_

"Has anyone seen Kurt?" She asked. He could have just gone to the bathroom. He didn't strike her as someone who would go off trying to do some funny business, like hide from them and freak them all out. Everyone stopped talking and looked around before shaking their heads.

"He was just here a minute ago," Lena said.

Tess was about to go look for him when the sound of semi-automatic gunshots rippled through the boat.


	9. Vulnerable

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: Chapter 9. It's kinda short I think... But. It has a lot of stuff in it so pay attention. I spelled "expression" wrong the first time every time I wrote it lol.

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><p><strong>LENA LANDRY<strong>

Clark and Emilio were supporting Kurt through the doorway; he was gushing blood from several deep cuts on his forehead. Lena then saw the gun that Kurt was still hanging on to, and it dragged on the door with the metal distorted and twisted by something incredibly powerful. She quickly cleared out a space for him in a chair and watched, feeling once again out of place and useless as everyone else switched into a "do something" mode.

Somehow Lincoln was able to shift into doctor mode, although she expected that in his state he wouldn't be able to do very much.

Jonas and A.J. were doing their jobs. Clark grabbed Kurt's gun and tossed it out of the way as Tess tried to stem the bleeding with a towel. Emilio went to shut and lock every door just in case _it_ was out there. With the damage it had done to the gun - and Kurt - Lena wasn't sure how much a door would do to stop the thing. Kurt's expression was more angry than hurt of scared. He seemed genuinely disappointed in himself that he hadn't been able to stop it. But maybe he had. She didn't know - maybe he had killed it, but was angry that he had gotten hurt in the process. He was probably angry about the gun. He loved his gun more than he loved anything or anyone else.

"Lena, get me the bag!" Lincoln ordered. His expression was sharp and focused, although his movement was stiff and unnatural. She wished he would just sit down and rest and let the rest of them get to work.

Regardless, she was glad to be doing something as she brought the medical bag to him.

"These are deep," Lincoln said. "You'll need stitches."

"She came out of the reflection in the water," Kurt said, mater-of-fact, as though it was an everyday occurrence. "Turn the lights off outside. It isn't just mirrors she can move through. Anything that offers even the slightest reflection." He seemed calm and in control. At least he wasn't in shock.

Lena was pretty sure she would be in shock if it had happened to her.

"We'll worry about that later," Lincoln said back.

"I hit her twice," Kurt said with the closest thing to satisfaction she suspected he would ever get to. The only thing that pleased him was shooting things. Interesting. "She can be hurt in our world. If she can get hurt, she can be killed," he added in his strong accent.

Lena shared a glance with Tess.

"Stop talking and hold still. This is going to hurt," Lincoln said unnecessarily.

Kurt didn't even flinch. 

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><p>The next morning, Lena found herself following Lincoln as he made his way to the deck to see what had happened. She had been trying to stop him from going but he had been adamant about asking a look, and had told her that his head no longer hurt at all.<p>

So what. He was still hurt. He didn't know that his entire back was covered in claw marks.

In the end she gave in and followed had all fallen asleep in various places throughout the kitchen, no one really wanting to leave.

The rest of the crew was still sleeping - she thought.

She wasn't exactly sure what to expect. Kurt said he had wounded it, but what did that mean? Did it bleed? Did it even have blood? Would it still be there, waiting for them? It wasn't exactly sunny outside and there were still thick clouds over the sky, so the water would be dead and non-reflective. But she would have felt safer if they had waited for everyone else to get up. Or hadn't gone at all.

When she walked on to the deck, there was... nothing. Not a single, noticeable splash of blood. She was surprised at that. Kurt had been dripping blood down his forehead and there should at least be a sign of it on the deck.

"This is strange... usually wherever she goes, there is blood," Lincoln said out loud. She had to agree. Maybe it had left for good because it didn't want to get injured further. Maybe it was going to look for easier prey. She doubted it. It was a demon and it was probably just biding its time. She wondered what the next trip up its sleeve would be. It was probably pissed off.

"Let's just go back inside," she suggested, feeling sick to her stomach. They were vulnerable here, all alone.

"In a moment," Lincoln said distractedly.

He was staring at the deck. She walked up to him and knelt down when she noticed strange indents in the wood. It looked like something had slammed a hammer down over and over. But the shape was different. More almond shaped.

Like a hoof.

"Lincoln, please," she said, panic fluttering in her chest. She didn't know why she was scared. All she knew was that they had to get inside, _now_. They were too out in the open, and the demon was dangerous. Looking for blood. Just Lincoln's and Jahel's and Kurt's, or the rest of theirs too? She wasn't sure, but she didn't want to find out.

Was that how Jahel felt all the time.

He couldn't say no to her when she begged.

They were turning to head back inside when something made the boat jerk hard. They both staggered against the railing and she pretended not to hear his grunt of pain.

Wounded. Vulnerable.

"Lincoln?" She asked. He seemed to be frozen, staring with a startled, disgusted and stared expression into the water. She didn't see that expression on his face often. Something wasn't right. She didn't want to look, and her heart as racing violently. Was it down there? She could almost picture it, grinning from ear to ear with a zipper of fangs, eyes wide and coloured like blood, waiting for them to look so it could invoke terror in them. It was most certainly succeeding.

"This isn't..." he said, still looking at the water. "How?"

She forced herself to look and promptly forgot how to breathe. It seemed like time had suddenly stood still. She then understood his stumbling phrases and questions, mostly because she felt her own forming on her lips, even as her stomach dropped dangerous, threatening to betray her.

It wasn't water anymore, anywhere.

All around the ship was a gurgling river of thick red blood.


	10. Flight

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: Getting kinda close to the end. Makes me a little sad. But that's alright, my creative streak never ends and I'll continue making stories. :) Thanks for reading and this is chapter 10!

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><p><strong>LINCOLN COLE<strong>

"Run. Get back inside," he ordered, spinning towards her and starting to move. She forced her alarmed stare away from the river and sucked in a breath.

She jumped back with a scream.

He turned, feeling a cold chill run through him. _We shouldn't have come out here,_ he thought. _I should have listened to her._ Too late for regrets now. It seemed that they were caught in the middle of something moving faster than they could comprehend. He half expected to be ripped apart before he could see what it was. Of course, he knew what it was. It _had_ to be her. What else could it be?

Despite the fact that he already was semi-prepared for it, his heart seemed to stop in his throat.

The face was pressed against the glass of the navigation room with clawed hands, coated thickly in blood, on either side. The mutated body of the demon was both breath-taking and terrifying, and he was frozen to the spot once more as red and yellow eyes locked on his blue ones.

She began to smile.

Then the spell broke, and he was able to move, so he stumbled after Lena towards the lower decks; he shut and locked the door behind him just as the demon let out a blood curdling screech.

Then there were inside, safe for at least a moment.

They stared at one another, eyes wide with shock and fear as they wondered what to do. Lincoln was pressed against the door and she was just a few feet away. He was going to speak, to say something or anything that could possibly calm them down. Nothing came out.

The sound of a hoof smashing into the metal door made him jump violently. He jerked away from it.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Lena said, dragging him down the hall. They didn't have time to find someone else and warn them. They just barely had time to duck into a storage cupboard, and despite the fact that there was little to no room to move, shut the door. If it found them, there were as good as dead.

He found himself squished against the wall and the floor by the shelving above his head and Lena beside him. There was nowhere to go. He shut his eyes, breathing heavily from panic, and could hear the sound of hooves clicking against the hard floor down the hall. Louder than that was Lena's rapid, frightened breathing, and he couldn't stand feeling so useless before her fear. With his own fear, he couldn't feel any pain at all, so he pulled Lena closer to himself and away from the door. No room. They were lucky that they'd been able to get in here at all, if it could be called luck.

The sounds outside were becoming gradually louder, as if she was biding her time and walking with ease towards her prey. If she knew where thy were then she knew that she had all the time in the world. He thought he heard a low growling sound that was similar to a dog's.

Then the hooves were right outside the door. They both held their breaths and waited for what felt like an eternity.

She walked on. Relaxing just a little, he closed his eyes and thanked whatever god was out there that it hadn't found them. It was moving on and hopefully everyone else would be alert enough to see what was happening.

If not then... He didn't want to think about that. He and Kurt and Jahel were the only ones who had seen her grave. Maybe she would spare the others... And then what? The crew would lose their only protection, and Jahel who seemed to have a strong connection with what was going on always seemed to warn them when things were going to get bad... and who would treat the bad cases or the serious injuries? They would be rendered incapable of continuing the mission. If they survived at all.

But they had to do _something_.

He realized he couldn't hear the sound of the creature walking anymore. It had either stopped or was too far away. That or the sound of his own heart beating was so loud that he couldn't hear her anymore. It was too dark to see anything but he was almost completely certain that it was gone.

He let himself start to relax more. It was over for now. They'd be fine. Kurt would shoot the thing and hopefully kill it, if that was possible, and they'd all go back to the way they'd been before.

Some people said he was too optimistic.

He'd rather be naive than be someone who was afraid of their own shadow for fear it may come out to kill them.

They both waited a few more minutes, listening for sounds of hooves on the floor, of screams, of gunshots, of anything that might tell them what was happening. But there was nothing. Somehow this silent confusion made his heart race even harder than before. He had no idea what was going on and he was afraid that someone was going to get hurt.

His pictured his mom trying to face up to that thing and felt a shudder pass through him.

They had to get out. The closet felt too small, too warm, and too dark. The fear of that thing no longer mattered to him anymore. The crew needed them to help, and they couldn't stay here and hide any longer. In the dark, he turned his head towards Lena and could almost imagine her doing the same.

"Lincoln," she murmured quietly, finally breaking the silence to voice what they had both been thinking for quite some time. "I think it's gone."

No sooner had she said the words when a terrifying screech echoed through the air and the creature slammed against the door.


	11. Burned

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: Chapter 11! o= I'm on April Break now but I have to spend the weekends at a different kind of class so that makes me sad. Anyway. Reading on. ;p

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><p><strong>LENA LANDRY<strong>

They had no time to react before the door was wrenched from its hinges and a large shape stood there, teeth bared and body posed to strike. She couldn't help but scream again, and practically dove out of the closet, trying to escape it. At the last second she saw the bloodied wound on one of the demon's legs before she collided with it. The sound it made was one she would never forget.

It was an animal-like sound, guttering and loud and rather similar to the sound a train makes before screeching to a halt. The creature pulled its leg away and as she sprawled to the ground, she saw a hoof raised to smash down on her.

"No!" She threw up her arms in an instinctive protective gesture, just in time to see Lincoln practically tackle it before it could land the blow.

"Lincoln!" She yelled, as he and the beast hit the floor.

"Run," he gasped, trying to get to his feet. A red stain was growing on his shirt. He tore the stitches again. She stood, frozen to the spot. She couldn't just leave him. As she stared, the demon rolled around on its feet and snarled at her. She looked into its red and yellow eyes and felt an icy coldness piercing her heart and freezing her to the ground. So much hate and anger. As she stared, she saw the other bullet wound in its belly.

So it could get wounded. Kurt was right. How do they kill it?

It lunged for her, and she could only stand and stare as Lincoln tied to drag it back. The demon turned and in one swift movement, raked its claws down the side of his face, sending him sprawling onto his back. His cry of pain seemed to wake her from her daze.

She turned to run as the demon looked back in her direction.

**KURT ****BRYNDILSON**

He woke in full alarm, a feeling of anxiety overcoming him. He wasn't sure why had woken, but every muscle in his body was tense as though there was danger nearby. He sat still, listening, feeling a powerful urge to grab his guns and take off. But not yet. He had to figure out what it as that had woken him from dead sleep.

The sound of footsteps in the hallways above him answered his question.

That certainly wasn't human.

He jumped to his feet, grabbing his guns. It was about time to kill that thing. He only hoped it hadn't killed one of them yet.

He nearly collided with Clark who came blearily from his room.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"Take this," Kurt handed him a backup pistol. Clark wasn't a great shooter but he was better than nothing. And Kurt knew that he might not be able to take the demon out completely on his own. He had tried before and that hadn't gone as well as he expected.

There was a screeching sound that he recognized. It had screeched at him as it leaped onto the deck, eyes wild and feral like an animal's. It was hard to believe that she had once been human. It was also hard to believe that the Boiuna would have given her such powers and strength. It wasn't like the Boiuna to grant wishes unless it had some secret plan. Maybe it had felt a moment of sympathy and wanted to seek revenge on the villagers through her. Whatever the case, things were far out of control now. She had to be put down, food good. Maybe then her human spirit would be put to rest.

It wasn't his job to mess with the magic and the power that the Boiuna controlled. There was a chance the Boiuna would be angered by his interference - but it was a risk he had to take. If he didn't kill the demon, they would be dead, and if the Boiuna was angry, they would be dead also. Some chances required risk.

"If it comes at you, shoot it. You can't outrun it," he said calmly to Clark who was rapidly growing more and more nervous.

"Wonderful," Clark responded.

He made it to the hallway in time to see Lincoln hit the ground. He saw the creature next. He saw the bloodied bullet wounds he had made earlier. It was likely to be pissed. But it was wounded at least, and that meant it would be easier to kill it. But where to hit it? Headshot? Was its source elsewhere? It would take several lucky guesses to hit the demon and actually kill it. But he could take out the limbs first, and then it wouldn't be able to stop him. It seemed like Mary would be having another bloody death - but this time she would stay dead.

Then he saw Lena, trying to run. There was no time. The demon plunged its claws straight into her lower back, near her kidney, and a scream of pain echoed down the hallway. She slumped to the ground when the demon pulled away, and Kurt immediately pressed the trigger. The first bullet hit the demon in the base of the neck. The second hit its leg. As it screeched in pain and started to collapse, he emptied another into the other leg. He walked closer, expression cold, eyeing the demon with empty disinterest - showing that he wasn't afraid of it, and thus sapping its strength. Another bullet went into its head but it didn't die. He tried the chest, where the heart would have been, and it let out an animal-like growl and whine. Another in the stomach. Its thrashing slowed. Realizing he was only wasting bullets now, he pulled out a match. The walls and floor would not burn. He lit the match and dropped it on the demon, making sure the flame hit the hair which would light instantly. Only when it went up in flames was he sure that it was dead. It only took seconds for him to shoot and burn the demon until it was nothing more than a pile of charred ash.

Lowering the gun, he looked down at Lena's unmoving body. Her lower back was soaked with blood and he wasn't even sure if she was alive.


	12. Free

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The River or any of its characters. The plot idea of this story is completely my own imagination (though if they do something like it in season 2 which I'm really hoping they have, they can own it cuz it'll be much better than this ;])

NOTE: Chapter 12 here. o; I'm pretty much dead tired. Very long class today and I think I pulled half the muscles in my body... sleepy... xD

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><p><strong>LINCOLN COLE<strong>

"Lena!" Lincoln shouted desperately as he saw the demon stab its claws into her back. Blood was streaming down his face, blinding his right eye, and he could feel that his other wounds were open. That didn't matter. He was going to kill the demon. It had gone after her for no reason and he wasn't going to let her die. He was starting to move when the gunshots rang out. He was deaf to the screeches of pain and the sound of more shots as he crawled forward, keeping low to avoid getting into the line of fire, to Lena's body. She had just gone limp and he realized she must have gone unconscious, or at least given up in trying to crawl away. He hoped the claws had missed her kidney.

"Lena?" He whispered Flames whipped around him. He had no idea what was going on but could not look up from her. He put his hands on her wound, pressing slowly to stop the bleeding. Still, it oozed out sluggishly between his fingers. He needed tools, bandages, everything. And she still didn't know if her kidney had been hit. As far as he could tell, it missed by mere inches, but he couldn't be sure unless he saw it on an x-ray or scan.

There was no time to waste though. He had to stop the bleeding now or she would bleed out.

She twitched under his touch and murmured his name. She was conscious, at least. "I've got you, you'll be fine," he said quickly. He was struggling to focus. The nagging thoughts in the back of his mind told him she_ should not_ have gotten hurt. She had nothing to do with this, and now she was dying on the floor and he was struggling to think how to stop the bleeding. His head was spinning from the collection of events from the past few days.

"Lincoln," Kurt knelt down beside him and nudged him out of the way. He felt an instant of anger and wanted to protest until he saw Kurt pressing a towel against the wound. Lincoln wondered why he couldn't collect his thoughts enough to do anything. "Get out of here. She will be fine. It isn't deep enough to kill," he said.

Lincoln gazed at him blankly. He was the doctor, wasn't he? "It needs sutures and-"

Kurt cut him off. "You're not use to us here when you're losing that much blood. I know how to take care of injuries," he added.

_Losing_ blood? Lincoln wondered.

He shook his head stubbornly, wanting to stay and then had to blink more red droplets out of his eye. _Oh_, he thought. He didn't want to leave though. He had to be there, next to her, just to make sure she would stay alright. It was his fault she was in his position, anyway, and he wouldn't leave. He had to protect her, to make sure the demon didn't touch her again. They had always taken care of each other and nothing was going to change that.

"I can't leave her," he protested.

Kurt ignored him. Hands grabbed Lincoln from behind and forced him to his feet. He flinched, half expecting _it_ to tear him apart. But that couldn't be. Kurt wouldn't have done anything unless it was dead. He tried to pull away, but his body was quickly losing strength and the grip held firm, stronger than he was.

His gaze dropped. Was that what was left of the demon? The pile of ashes on the floor seemed a lot less intimidating. What now? Was it really dead or still there, in some kind of spirit world, waiting to regain its strength?

"Come on, let's get moving You can talk to her when you aren't dying," Clark's voice said. Lincoln wondered where he had come from. He felt a strong annoyance that Clark was forcing him away from Lena. He wasn't strong enough to fight back but he would stubbornly refuse any help from Clark. It felt necessary, to prove that she could still help and didn't need anything after all. But as he continued to walk, his body continued to grow weaker and his limbs were heavier. How could he be losing blood so fast? His knees buckled and he almost hit the floor, but was caught by an arm across his chest.

"Easy," Clark said.

"I'm fine," Lincoln mumbled, but he was quickly losing that fight too. Damn it. His body was betraying him.

"Of course you are," Clark responded sarcastically.

With Clark half dragging, half supporting him along, he was able to get into a room and sink slowly to the floor. He didn't have the energy or willpower to continue to stand. He didn't even hurt. Normally, he would have connected that to something else wrong, but at the moment he was just grateful that his entire body was going numb. He didn't want to feel anymore.

"Lincoln," Clark's voice seemed muffled and far away. Something, annoyingly, was keeping him from hitting the ground, which he was sure would be cool and comfortable.

Somehow knowing that Lena would be alright, he let his consciousness drip away with the constant flow of his own blood.

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><p>He woke a couple hours later. He felt more comfortable that he had in days and although the pain was there and nagging sharply at his back and stomach, he didn't care. He felt warm, safe, and knew that everything would be going back to normal.<p>

"Lena?" He sat up slowly, wincing as he realized there were sutures in his skin that tightened when he moved.

She was lying next to him, resting comfortable, and looking considerably better than she had the last time he saw her. He couldn't resist rising to his feet and half stumbling over to her, leaning against the table she was sleeping on and brushing thin strands of hair out of her face. She would never have let him do this if she was awake. She was too stubborn and independent, but she was still his friend.

The boat was chugging along peacefully now, sweeping through the light blue of the river, with the sun shining and the entire world going back to normal. For now. 

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><p><strong>READ AFTER FINISHING THE STORY:<strong> I was almost considering killing off one of them, but decided that wasn't my style very much. I like them all too much to risk killing them. I might add another chapter... Some kind of epilogue... But I'm not sure because I don't write good when it's calm and peaceful ;p. Anyway. Thanks for reading! I'll think of something else to write about soon!


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